


Focus

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [55]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Confusion, F/M, Famous, Famous Jughead, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Issues, Journalist Betty, Kinda, Mistaken Identity, Penelope is evil, Photographer Jughead, Protective Cheryl, cheryl and jughead are brother and sister, famous cheryl, jughead blossom, meet cute, model cheryl, model jughead, pining Jughead, pining betty, protective jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 03:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16716026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: Jughead mistakes Betty for a Model:featuringA lot of issues along the way.





	Focus

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy!

Betty groans at her phone but continues to scroll obsessively. 

Veronica watches her warily from across her bedroom. "Hey, B?" She asks, deciding to save her best friend from whatever social-media induced infatuation she is currently drowning in. "Are you alright?" 

She watches as Betty looks up, anguish and admiration twisting onto her face. " _No."_ She exclaims, her fingers still swiping up her phone. "Have you seen these? Have you  _seen_ how beautiful Cheryl Blossom is? How is anyone in the entire world supposed to get a boyfriend when people like her exist? She's so  _pretty."_ Betty turns her phone around and Veronica rolls her eyes as she's greeted to the thousands of stunning photos that grace Cheryl's instagram page. The photos are all stunningly edited and have a maroon, burgundy and scarlet theme that is incredibly appealing to the eye. It's one of the most popular instagram accounts in the world due to a) the model, and b) how aesthetic it is. 

The raven-haired girl sighs and turns to look at her reflection in the mirror at the dresser she's perched at. "She's a model, B. They're not normal. You can't base yourself or compare yourself to models." She waits for a reply, but doesn't get one. Instead, she can hear Betty's fingernail double-tapping the screen and no doubt liking every single photo on the account. She sighs. "You're beautiful, B. Stop torturing yourself. I don't know why you follow her. She's so self-obsessed."

Betty gasps, cradling her phone to her chest in outrage and staring at Veronica. "She is not! She's beautiful! Have you seen her lips? Look at her lips." She tries to find a photo but Veronica waves her away. 

"Yes, I know she's beautiful. But don't think it's all her. Photographers have a major part to play." 

Betty's already curled up on her side, eyes locked on her screen. "Oh, I know," she says with a humf. "Jughead Blossom, her brother. He's the one who takes every single photo on her account. I follow him too. His photos are  _stunning."_ Betty pauses, as if she suddenly has a thought. "What do you think he looks like? Do you think he's stunning too?" She lets out a dreamy sigh. "I bet he is. Those Blossom family genes are probably immaculate. I can't wait for Cheryl to have a baby. Can you imagine?" 

Veronica rolls her eyes. "Models are self-absorbed." She repeats, "who fills their instagram with just pictures of themselves?" 

Her blonde friend cuddles into her pillow, holding her phone in front of her. "She's not." She insists. "Or well..." she considers, amending and Veronica waits expectantly. "Okay, she is. But it's only because she's confident and she knows what she looks like. She's not afraid to flaunt it. But her brother is the photographer, he's the one who started taking photos of her first. Then they just blew up and she got her own account and became a...well, became a world famous model. But in spite of that, she won't let anyone shoot her professionally aside from Jughead. See how much she cares about her family? She's amazing. And Jughead...whoever he is, he's so talented. Cheryl said in an interview that she loves watching him work. That he spends hours editing each photo, can you imagine?" She snuggles further into the cushions. "What a family." 

"You're obsessed." Veronica decides, coming over to snatch Betty's phone out of her hand. "Enough Blossom talk for one night. Let's watch something."

Betty grumbles until Five Feet Apart is playing on their laptop and Veronica smirks. Her best friend certainly has a thing for tall, dark and sarcastic. 

* * *

Jughead crosses his legs, straining his neck up a little and holding the camera as he points upwards. Cheryl's sitting on the edge of a wall on the roof of one of the oldest buildings in LA. The sky is azure behind her and the reddish gold of the sunset is lighting her hair like it's on fire. Jughead can't wait to emphasise it later. She's wearing denim shorts and a pink crop top and her lips are painted cherry. Her legs look so long from this angle, and her eyes so big. "That's great," he murmurs, examining the photo, before lifting it up again. "Look to the right maybe, into the sun?" 

Cheryl does as he asks with all the elegance and grace of a natural. The breeze catches her tresses and they fly back over her shoulder and his finger holds down on the shutter. He examines the photo happily. 

Cheryl leans back on her hands, enjoying the warmth of the sun. "Are we done now? Can we go?" She asks into the cloudless view about her. 

Jughead chews on the inside of his cheek and looks at the setting sun and the warm glow it creates over the city. 

His sister lifts her hand to shield her eyes from it. "We can get food." 

Jughead grins at her. "Okay, we should have enough shots." He heads over, twisting around so Cheryl can jump onto his back and he piggy backs her over towards their Jeep. 

"Should have? We've been out here for hours. Longest sunset ever." She complains, ruffling his hair and he slaps her ankle in retaliation. Soon they're in the car and Jughead pushes it into gear as they head down. "Anyway," Cheryl begins, fiddling with the AC so some cool air blows over both of them. They relish it in unison and Jughead realises how sticky with sweat he is. "I know you said no, but if you could get your head out of your ass for five seconds to listen to this proposition you could see how good it would be for us." 

Jughead frowns. He keeps his eyes on the road, peeling out gently. "What proposition?"

"The one I've been talking about non-stop for the past three days, idiot." She gripes. "Harper's want to do a photoshoot with the two of us." She takes in his wince and barrells on. "I'm serious, Jug, this could be so good. I don't know why you're hiding that face, you've got Blossom genes after all. I know I'd have to lift the 'you're the only who can take pictures of me' ban, but it would be worth it." 

He shakes his head, pulling down the shielder as they join the flow of traffic. "You don't need the extra publicity," he points out. 

"I'm not talking about doing it for my extra publicity. I'm talking about the blow up your account would get when people see what your stupid mug looks like. I'm talking about taking pictures of yourself. I'm talking about shared fashion photoshoots, do you know how many magazines would lap us up? Me on my own, psh, I'm just another model. The most gorgeous one, obviously, but just another one. There's nothing that defining about me apart from my iconic hair and stunning lips."

"Not to mention modesty," he points out with a grin. Cheryl ignores him. 

"This could be good. For me, for you, for  _us."_

"It sounds like extra publicity." 

She makes a noise of frustration but doesn't correct him. Instead, her voice softens and she turns in her seat to stare at him straight on. Jughead shifts uncomfortably as the weight of her stare settles on his cheek and he tries to keep his focus on driving them to the nearest restaurant. They won't have to wait in line, not once the manager sees Cheryl. "Why are you so afraid to show your face? Look at you. It's a wonder you haven't been snapped up by a talent agent. If I had your jaw line, or your eye lashes. I mean, look at your nose!"

"Cheryl-" he begins, uncomfortably, but she cuts him off. 

"You have to stop thinking that-"

"I'm the only Blossom in history not to have red hair?" He snaps. It spills out of him with more anger than he means, and he slumps a little into the steering wheel. Cheryl doesn't say anything beside him. Her silence is telling. "I just...I mean, even your cousin- even  _Jason_ has red hair. I'm like a..." he shakes his head, aware of how stupid this all is. "Like a mistake."

Cheryl crosses her arms. "That sounds like the kind of shit mom used to throw at you back in High School. The kind of stuff we promised to ignore because she's wrong." 

He knows his sister's right, but he can still remember it. The way their mom would stare at his hair sometimes; disgust obvious on her face. The way she'd grab his face in her mean, pinched hands, too hard to be a loving mother, and hiss words of pure venom into it. He'd been so scared. So  _ashamed._ His first thought had been, when he was old enough to piece it all together, that he must have been adopted it. But no, the DNA results had come back and he'd had to admit that she just hated him because of what he looked like. 

He used to stare in the mirror and wonder why the Blossom green eyes and the Blossom pale skin wasn't enough. 

When he got to the same height as dad, he thought something would shift. It hadn't. 

But he knows- he knows he wasn't the only one who had shit said to them. Cheryl had suffered her share too. Over her body, over the way she dressed or acted or spoke. She still can't eat without a tiny little voice in her head but Jughead knows it's getting quieter as time goes by. 

They'd left the second they'd turned eighteen. Bought a car and drove away and never spoke to their parents again. 

The memory of that summer after graduation brings a smile to his face. Of the beat up, second hand wrangler and the endless roads and their favourite songs blasting as loudly as they could. Their laughter and relief the further and further they got from Greendale. It's enough to make him reach out and take Cheryl's hand in his just the way they did six years ago when they were eighteen and afraid but so excited that there was something waiting for them at the end of the road; right in the centre of the horizon. 

Cheryl twines their fingers together tightly. Her nails are long and painted crimson and scratch over his skin lightly. "I like your hair." She says, bringing her feet up onto the seat. "You can't keep letting her rule you." 

Jughead knows she's right. He brings their twined hands together and kisses the back of hers. "When'd you get so wise?" He murmurs. "I was always the smarter twin." 

She flicks his shoulder and squeals at the sight of her favourite, overly-priced restaurant. "You wish!"

* * *

Betty feels good. 

She's wearing a new pink blazer, and a new pair of dark jeans that make her ass look fantastic. Her hair is up, and her makeup is fierce and she feels good. She's been asked to write an article for Harper's this month, which is different and exciting but she's eager to meet the team and work through it. She's more into journalism really, but branching out into an up and coming designer sounds like something new and varied. 

New York is warm and the hustle and bustle of the early morning makes her feel like she fits in. She too has somewhere to go. She too has somewhere to be and stuff to do. The building of Harper's Bazaar, when she gets there, is immense and beautiful. It's one of the older buildings in the area but she has a feeling it's been renovated to retain its rustic look. She heads in through the front door and sure enough what she's treated to is sleek and modern and beautiful. 

It's a large lobby area with elevators to the right and seating to the left and a large desk with three different secretaries in the middle behind an ornate fountain. She's about to head over and present her badge to ask for directions, when someone clears their throat beside her. 

She looks up in surprise and her jaw literally drops. She hurries to shut it, but can't take her eyes off him.  _Jesus._ He's about half a head taller than her and that's when she's in heels, and he's got sleepily mussed looks that give the carefree allusion of sex and it looks so good. A wavy lock dips into...into somewhat familiar green eyes and then a face with a jaw that could cut glass. He has thin pink lips that looks so soft and a long, smooth neck. His attire surprises her a little bit for their location. It's a worn plaid shirt and a pair of jeans in some battered converse. He smiles at her and Betty has to remember to keep her heart beating. "I'm sorry, but could you tell me where this is?" He asks in a low, appealing voice. He shows her something on his phone and it's one of Harper's studios.

It's a modelling studio. 

Of course. Obviously. Obviously he's a model. And he thinks she works here. 

"I'm sorry," she says, with her best apologetic smile. "I don't actually work here-"

"No, no," he hurries, looking a little embarrassed and she's completely enamoured. "I just figured- well, you're a model too, right? So, you're heading over there? Are you going now?" He huffs a nervous laugh. "I'm a little new at this."

Her jaw drops again. He can't seriously- he can't think that  _she's..._ no. Her cheeks blaze up in flames and she shakes her head. "No, I'm not-" she can't believe she's about to say this. "I'm not a model."

It's his turn to look surprised, and Betty realises that  _holy cow_ he really did think she was a model. A pleased smile finds its way onto her face and she suddenly feels a lot more confident than she did before- and she'd already been feeling pretty confident. This is another level. Damn, these jeans. "Oh, right," he murmurs, pushing his fingers through his dark locks, and they flop easily into another flawlessly attractive style. "Sorry to bother you then."

"No, it's okay," she laughs a little, trying to discreetly fan her face with her binder. "It's very flattering. Not every day a girl gets mistaken for a model." 

He shoots her a half grin, his own cheeks a little rouged. "I'm surprised. You..." he chews on the inside of his mouth and Betty bites her lip. She has a feeling something's about to happen. Like he's working up the courage to do something- maybe ask for her number? She wants him to. Desperately. Maybe she should? He looks so nervous she almost wants to laugh again. But this can't really be happening. A model isn't seriously about to ask for her number. Stuff like that doesn't happen in real life. She should go before she embarrasses herself, except he's still standing beside her, looking like he's trying to find the words. "Are you free this Friday?" He blurts, one of his hands digging through the pockets of his jeans. 

She blinks in surprise. "Um...yes?" She hedges, watching as he pushes a card towards her. 

It has a time and a location on it. "We're having this party for my sister's birthday." He says, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you wanted to come? There's gonna be lots of people, but we could...maybe we could..."

Another pleased smile, shyer this time, makes its way across her face and she nods once. A little, happy bob. "Okay," she whispers, clutching the card in her hand. "That sounds nice."

He ducks his head, staring at the floor. "Good." He mumbles. 

He's not like any model she's ever seen. "Good." She echoes, her cheeks rosy again. 

They fleetingly make eye contact before hurriedly turning away from each other and heading in their separate directions. 

Betty can't stop smiling the whole day. 

* * *

 

"Oh _fuck."_ Cheryl smiles, scrolling through the photos on her iPad as Jughead stands in front of the mirror in his bedroom. He peers at her through the reflection and smiles shyly. Cheryl catches it and grins nodding. "You look so good. When's the release date?" 

"In about a month, I think." He says, huffing in annoyance at the shirt he's wearing and tugging it off in search for another one.

Cheryl nods, examining the photo. It's good. They have a mix of Jughead looking like the brooding loner that he often comes across as; leaning against walls or draped back in fancy chairs with his legs kicked up, an intense look of longing on his face. But then they have some where they've captured the soft side that Cheryl is one of the few people privileged enough to see in person. The photographer has clearly captured him laughing a few times and snapped some photos. They've curled his dark hair and it hangs in wavy locks down his face and he's dressed nicely, which is rare in of itself.

She blinks as she notices the gold broach on his chest and gapes, zooming in. "Are you wearing the spider broach?" She cries, looking up at him. He's shirtless by the mirror and still faffing around with another top.

He grins at her. "Well, I'm a Blossom, aren't I?"

She tosses her slipper at him, a feeling of joy pulsing through her. She wears her broach in every photo and nearly every day because she loves it, but Jughead has almost never worn his. They had been matching presents when they were sixteen from their dad. Every member of the Blossom family had one. Cheryl had worn it because she liked the way it looked, but Jughead had hidden his away; ashamed by what it meant. But he's wearing it in the shoot and Cheryl is so proud of him she almost can't bear it. Then something dawns on her as she watches him try on another shirt. "Wait..." she cocks her head suspiciously. "I've never seen you care so much about your appearance. Why haven't you picked something already?" A thought occurs to her. "Oh my gosh, has being in front of the camera messed with your head already?" She's not sure she can handle another ego as big as hers.

He shoots her a mock-glare, but there's a flush crawling across his cheeks that Cheryl hasn't seen since they were both fifteen and Jughead had a crush on one of the cheerleaders and-

"Oh. My. God." She manages, jumping up out of the chair and squealing. Jughead groans in defeat. "You've met someone! Oh my god, who is she? Tell me everything!" 

"I haven't," he lies poorly. He snatches another shirt defensively but it just proves her point. 

"I'll help you dress if you give me details." She offers enticingly and smirks victoriously when his shoulder's slump in the mirror. 

After he's done recounting the meeting, and Cheryl's got him dressed rather fantastically (if she does say so herself, and she does), in a black button up with the top few buttons undone and his sharp collarbone revealed, and a nice pair of black jeans, she stares at him. This mystery girl that he's described seems nice enough, but..."And you didn't even get her name?" She accuses, and Jughead glares up at her. 

"I'm not as good at this as you, Cheryl. I don't date every person who walks by." 

"You don't date  _ever."_

He glares at her, looking a little put out. "She was so beautiful, I couldn't believe she wasn't a model." Cheryl rolls her eyes, but he continues. "I'm serious, Cheryl. Gorgeous in that...in that timeless sort of way. She looks like she could be out of another era. Hollywood Twilight and faded starlets, she looks like she's revived the genre single handedly just by her face." He continues on in a dreamlike reverie and Cheryl fusses around with his hair. In truth though, she's pleased. Jughead never finds girls attractive, at least not like this. A lot of the time, a girl will hit on him and he'll cock his head and say:  _can I photograph you sometime?_ which really means 'you'll look good in a shoot, but not in my life'. 

Once she's done, she reaches over for his camera and hangs it around his neck because she knows he never feels fully dressed without it. "There. Enough about this dream girl, you'll see her tonight. She's definitely coming, right?" 

He looks unsure. "I think so?" 

Cheryl smacks him upside the head and heads to her own room to get changed. It is her birthday, after all. She decides on something classic; a red flare skirt and a scarlet mesh top. Her hair she hauls up into a heavy ponytail and it swishes all the way down to her hips due to her latest extensions. When she steps out of the bedroom, feeling like the model she is, Jughead scrambles for his camera and hurriedly brings it to his eyes. Cheryl smirks. That reaction typically means she's done a very good job. 

Seeing Jughead, her brother, there in front of her now, looking so happy and in his element and snapping as many pictures as he can (with extra rolls in his pocket, no doubt) Cheryl marvels at how far they've come. She remembers being fourteen and walking into the bathroom to see her brother crying; his hair an ugly shade of white-orange after a poor bleaching attempt. He had to wear a beanie for about three years after that until it grew back. She'd taken such good care of him; with expensive shampoos and conditioners to make his hair soft and healthy again. He'd never touched it with dye after that; he'd been so embarrassed, but Cheryl had understood. She knew what their mother could make them feel like, could force them to do when she pushed them right to the brink. 

Cheryl remembers that beanie and his sad, hopeless eyes. 

She looks at her brother now; in his outfit and his camera with his dark floppy hair and his smile. She thinks of her own days hiding in the bathroom stalls to hurl up what little lunch she'd eaten and she remembers today; choosing to have dessert after dinner. 

"You're beautiful, Cheryl," he says.

And she feels it. Inside and out. "You are too," she beams, hooking their arms together and heading for the door. "Now let's go get your girl." 

Once they're downstairs and out into the warm evening, Cheryl freezes. Because there, under the street light, is Toni standing next to a crimson motorbike with a big pink bow. Cheryl screams and runs over to it as Toni and Jughead laugh. 

It's gorgeous. It's glossy. It's the best thing ever. "You did not," she breathes, running her hands over it reverently and Toni and Jughead sling their arms around each other and grin at her. "It was Toni's idea," Jughead says, "I just helped make it happen." 

Cheryl doesn't know when she got so lucky. Probably when she was born with a twin who ended up being her best friend. Probably when her best friend made another best friend called Toni Topaz and Cheryl had taken one look at her and thought 'yes. I'm in love.' The metal is cool under her fingers and the sleekness appeals to her. The seat is black leather and Cheryl has to blink back tears because when she'd seen it in the shop window she'd never have bought it for herself in a billion years, but of course Toni would have-

"Babe," Toni smiles softly, all magenta hair and purple lips, and she's tugging Cheryl in for a kiss as Jughead pops the trunk of the Jeep and pulls out another parcel. He holds his hands up in front of his face and makes a sound of disgust. 

"Okay, best friend and sister making out, I'm gonna have to call a time out on that," he teases, and Cheryl pulls away, her arm wrapping around Toni's waist and her girlfriend resting her head on her shoulder. He hands Cheryl a smaller package, and she takes it. It's fairly heavy and wrapped in brown paper, which is just so completely like her brother. Toni elbows her eagerly which gives Cheryl the feeling that Toni knows whatever's gonna be in there. She peels open the tape and chokes a little in disbelief. It's a red leather jacket- it matches the one that Toni wears, only that it's a vibrant scarlet and so supple. "I thought you should have something to wear so you look especially bad ass on that motorbike," her brother grins, one hand slipping into his pocket and the other touching his neck in the way that he does when he's nervous. 

Cheryl hauls him in for a hug, and feels him clutch her tightly and kiss the top of her head. 

"Happy birthday, little sister," he whispers, and Toni comes and joins the hug from behind and Cheryl is surrounded by the two people she loves most in the whole world. She's surrounded by family and she could't have asked for anything more on her birthday. 

Cheryl vows then and there that Jughead deserves someone in his life, and whoever this blonde is, she better treat her brother right. 

* * *

Even though the party is something that Betty's been talking about non-stop for the better part of this past week, now that she's here, she's not sure she should be. 

Veronica, on the other hand, seems sure enough for both of them. She drags Betty inside the huge mansion with blaring lights and a series of increasingly expensive cars parked outside. There's a fountain gushing crystal water and actual live turrets and everyone is absurdly tall and beautiful and Betty just feels out of place. Veronica, the good best friend that she is, assures her that she doesn't. It's a fricking New York party. Betty's bought herself a new dress and it's got a white turtleneck with no sleeves and a dip in the back and it hugs her figure, and she's got killer matching white heels and she thought she looked good in the mirror but now she's here and surrounded by what are undoubtedly supermodels, she's not so sure. 

Her hair hangs down around her face and her smoky eyeshadow makes her blue eyes look even bigger than normal, but she almost wants to hide behind it and stick to the corners. Veronica's decked out in a skintight bodysuit with a low cut down the front. Her hair is pushed back off her face in a tight bun and it accentuates every line of her. She's confident and so en form that Betty thinks she could almost belong here. 

"V..." she calls against the loud music as they wiggle through the writhing mass of bodies into the slightly less-crowded marble-encrusted entry way. "Maybe we should go-"

"Oh, I don't think so," Veronica says with a smile as she looks over Betty's shoulder. Betty sighs. "There's a red head making eyes at me, and I've gotta go show him a good time." 

"V, wait-"

But Veronica's gone, disappearing into the crowd of other beautiful people and Betty feels so agonisingly out of place that-

"I thought you wouldn't come," comes that smooth, low timbre that she remembers, and suddenly there's a warm hand on the bare skin of her back and her shoulder is pressed into a warm chest and she looks up to see the model. There's a hint of alcohol on his breath, and his eyes are shiny but mostly sober. There are two splotches of red on his cheeks that suggest he's a little flushed, but mostly in control. 

She smiles up at him, licking her lips and blushing at the way his eyes track the movement. "I never say no to a good party," she manages, and he chuckles. 

"I don't believe that for a second." He ducks his head a little, so his nose brushes her cheek and he's whispering right into her ear. "It's loud and obnoxious. But there's a balcony upstairs? I'll get you a drink and meet you there, if you like?" 

She nods a little shakily, the scent of him is intoxicating. "Okay." She nods, smiling at his smile. He presses his lips to her cheek and she swears her heart surges in response before he disappears too. She makes her way to the stairs, floating on cloud nine just a little, and it isn't long before she finds the balcony. It's big and deserted and looks onto the well kept gardens of whoever owns this house. she leans against the edge and the cool air nips at her skin, but it's a relief from the sweltering heat of inside. 

When she hears footsteps on the tiles, she turns with a smile only to lock into place. 

That's fucking Cheryl Blossom.  _The_ Cheryl Blossom. Betty really is at a part for supermodels. She stares in awe as Cheryl marches right up to her. She's just as stunning as she is in the pictures; kitted out in a red leather jacket with her hair up and her legs bare. "Cheryl Blossom," she breathes as Cheryl stops before her. "I'm just- I'm such a big fan. Oh my gosh, I had no idea you'd be here, this is amazing..."

Cheryl smiles once, a little tightly. "Are you interested in the guy you were talking to downstairs?" She asks. 

Betty blinks. Before it locks into place. "Oh, um, he invited me and I-"

"Are you interested in him?" She asks again, and Betty doesn't understand what's happening here. She's slightly freaked out and completely confused. Cheryl cocks her head, assessing her and nodding slightly like she likes what she sees. It makes Betty feel amazing, but it doesn't make the atmosphere any less tense. "I can see why he likes you, but you have to understand that I can, and  _will_ break you. Okay?" 

She nods, because she's not sure what else to do, and watches awe-struck and stunned as Cheryl turns on her heel and struts off the balcony like it's her very own runway. Betty's left standing there for a while, and when the guy who invited her comes back, she's surprised. 

But then she sees his face.

There's a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek- one that matches Cheryl's exactly and oh god- oh god this suddenly makes sense. 

This is Cheryl's  _boyfriend._ Shit. Shit, she's ruining the relationships of one of her favourite models and the guy she's been thinking about non-stop lately is a cheater and she feels sadness and humiliation rise up inside her. He's holding two drinks, and she can't believe she was going to accept one. What if it's spiked? Who would cheat on  _Cheryl Blossom?_ The most beautiful woman in the whole world? He smiles at her, and holds one out and he must be so clueless if he doesn't realise that the mark of his girlfriend is on his cheek. "Are you okay?" He asks, eyebrows knitting together and looking so adorable that Betty hates him. 

She takes her drink and tosses it into his face before slapping him as hard as she can. 

He cries out in pain, spluttering, as she whirls away. She's emanating anger, she's so furious she can't believe it. She came all this way, spent all this money on a dress, felt so good about herself and all she's done is make one of the most beautiful women in the world hate her. Just as she steps inside, a hand grabs her arm and she's dragged to the side and pinned to the wall by none other than Cheryl Blossom. She squeaks, a defence ready on her lips when she gauges the look on Cheryl's face. 

It doesn't make sense. 

"Why the hell did you do that?" Cheryl cries, shaking Betty slightly. "What's wrong with you? Are you a psycho?" 

A tan-skinned girl with purple hair is tugging Cheryl's shoulder. "Babe, please, let's go to J-"

"No, Toni! How  _dare_ you think that he's not good enough for you," Cheryl continues, and Betty has no idea at all what's happening. She turns to the purple-haired girl for help, because that one seemed more level headed, but that girl is heading out onto the balcony to...to  _comfort_ Cheryl's cheating boyfriend? Did Cheryl want Betty to get with him? She's so confused. "He's a  _treasure_ and you aren't even worthy of him-"

"He was- he was cheating on you!" Betty splutters, pushing out from under Cheryl's surprisingly strong grip. "What's wrong with you?" She yells. 

Cheryl stares at her, and her eyes are so green and beautiful but they look a lot like the other model's-

"He's my  _brother."_ Cheryl says, more like a realisation, and Betty sags back into the wall as the force of it hits her. 

Oh. 

Oh shit.

Jughead Blossom. She was asked out on a date by  _Jughead Blossom._ Now all the interactions make sense, but still- he can't be her brother. He can't be. Cheryl's grabbing her shoulders and hauling her out onto the balcony and Betty's face turns a furious shade of red when she spots him; drenched in alcohol, with a bright red cheek standing beside Toni. Cheryl shoves her and Betty stumbles forwards in her heels when Jughead catches her. His arms are strong and his embrace is warm, but his shirt is damp. 

"He's Jughead Blossom," Cheryl says again, and Toni frowns. "He's my  _brother."_

Toni looks between Betty and Cheryl for a second, before a wide smile splits her face. "Oh my god, she did not." 

Betty pulls herself from Jughead's rightening grip and smoothes down her dress. "He doesn't have red hair," she tries to save herself the humiliation. "How was I supposed to know? Every Blossom has red hair." But Jughead's hair isn't red. It's lovely and dark and why would a Blossom dye their hair? The red is what makes them so iconic. 

Silence falls over the balcony, and Betty has the weird feeling she's said something wrong. 

Jughead rubs his neck, and steps away from all of them. "I think I'm gonna head home," he murmurs, looking so small and sad and Betty hates herself. If he's Cheryl's brother, that just means...that just means he saw her, thought she was beautiful, invited her to a party, got a drink thrown at him, and then got slapped. No wonder she doesn't have a boyfriend. And her heart aches because maybe she  _could_ have had one. A beautiful, talented boyfriend. And she's gone and ruined it by being- what had Cheryl said? A psycho. 

"No, Jug," the purple-haired girl murmurs, but he evades her outreached hand and manages a weak smile. He gives them all a two-fingered salute, before edging off the balcony and fading back inside. 

No one moves for a second, before Betty can't bear it, and she rushes off the balcony after him. 

Cheryl and Toni stand there, before Cheryl grins. "You know, I think I like her."

Toni rolls her eyes. 

* * *

His eyes still sting a little, and he keeps rubbing them to no avail. And his cheek throbs because  _damn_ that girl had a mean right hook. 

He's not quite sure what happened, but he is sure that he's not ready to be dating. The universe has taught him that much today, at least. First time he ever tries to ask out a girl and it goes so spectacularly wrong he almost can't believe it. 

He heads down the steps of the mansion and pats his pockets for his phone, wondering how long it'll be for an uber and maybe he should just walk back to their hotel. A nice, two-hour walk in the dark and the cold might be just what he needs. He's not sure if he's sober enough to drive, but he heads towards his car anyway because his camera is in there and he can take some cityscapes as he walks back. 

He's just unlocking it when a delicate throat clears itself, and he turns to see none other than the beautiful blonde standing there; attired in white and angelic as ever. "I hope you're not planning on driving," she murmurs, with a soft smile. Her hair is frazzled and gold, and it looks like a halo.

He doesn't return it, if only because she slapped him in the face for no reason and he's not in the most amiable mood. 

He grabs his camera and slings it over his head, closing the car door behind him and turning to walk towards the gate. He hears the heels rush after him. "No! Wait, I'm sorry, Jughead," she calls. He keeps walking. He's so much taller than her that she has to half-jog to keep up with him, and he's worried that she might slip in her heels, so he slows down just a little. "Look, I'm sorry, I just didn't know you were Cheryl's brother, I thought you were her boyfriend and you were cheating on her with me and...and I'm so sorry."

She really sounds it. She sounds earnest and sincere and so regretful. But he's got his back up and it  _hurts._ It hurts to know that despite the fact that he and Cheryl are both tall, with the same forest-green eyes, the same pale skin, the same teeth, the same cheekbones, just because he doesn't have the damn hair, he'll never really be one of them. He can hear Penelope's voice laughing in his head. He wants to go home. 

"Are you- are you  _crying?"_ The girl whispers, heart-break in her voice, and Jughead hadn't even realised he was, but he is. He's standing by the gate and crying silent tears. 

The blonde steps in front of him and reaches up to cradle his face. She catches his tears but he can't look at her. Everything about tonight is humiliating. 

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, tears welling up in her own eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," and she wraps her arms around him and hugs him tightly. She's so small she only comes to his chest, but his arms weave around her. It's...nice. She's nice. And...and, if he tries to understand it, he can maybe see why she'd think that. He never said his name, after all. And he kind of likes how kind and good this girl is, especially when she thought she might be hurting his sister. She's got a good heart. 

"I'm sorry too," he sighs, resting his chin on her head. Her embrace is so soft and strong, he wonders what it might be like to be wrapped up with her forever. "I overreacted. It's been...a long couple of days." 

She nods against him, not moving away so he doesn't either. "Ditto."

He chuckles, and she looks up and him and smiles. It's the same smile that took his breath away when he first saw her. "I never got your name," he realises aloud. 

She blushes, and takes one of his hands in hers. Their fingers twine together. "It's Betty," she breathes, and he relaxes in ways he never knew he was tense. 

It's classic. Timeless. Just like her. "Betty," he repeats, as they hold hands and walk out through the gate. "Do you like greasy burgers?" 

Her laughter is his new favourite sound. "Yes." She declares. "Do you like teaching amateurs how to take photos?" She gestures to the camera around his neck. 

He nods. He kind of wants  _her_ in front of the lens, to be honest. She's beautiful in a way he's never quite seen before. But there's something nice about being the subject, and having Betty photograph  _him._ He feels confident there in front of it, especially whenever she smiles like she likes what she sees. 

He thinks there's only one person he'd let be behind the camera on pretty, rainy nights like these. 

And she has the bluest eyes he's ever seen. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it, I'd love to do a follow up. Comment ideas or hit me up on tumblr at typing123
> 
> mwah 
> 
> x


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